


Superposition

by Walkerlocker52



Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Incest, Parent/Child Incest, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23574007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walkerlocker52/pseuds/Walkerlocker52
Summary: A nice mother/daughter romantic relationship that proves to be something more.
Relationships: Mother/Daughter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	Superposition

**Author's Note:**

> Incest done right. Or at least I hope.

“Audrey! Breakfast!” Her mother called from downstairs, and Audrey leaned back in her desk chair and stretched both arms over her head with a sigh. She’d been working studiously on scholarship essays since 6 AM and though she rarely ate breakfast (and her mother cooked it even more rarely), she hadn’t bothered to leave her bedroom just yet. The sound of sizzling bacon through thin floorboards had tipped her off, along with the mouth-watering smell, but Audrey was nothing if not focused when it came to academics. Her mother, Jean-Marie, was always pushing her to take frequent breaks, and Audrey half expected that was the reason breakfast had been cooked that day. It could almost be considered brunch at that point, seeing as it was a little past 10 in the morning.

Normally, she spent a good majority of her time downstairs in companionable silence or conversation with her mother; that had been their routine since Audrey started kindergarten. Close, borderline inseparable, both of them equally intelligent in different ways and just as eager to swap ideas over any given subject. But as of late, Audrey had become… distant. She couldn’t quite explain it at first. Emotions weren’t her forte and she was essentially deaf and dumb to her own; studying and learning was easy, concise, clear. Emotions were not. Eventually she’d worked out that her increase in solitude had something to do with the impending departure for college. Audrey hadn’t spent more than a week without her mother her entire life, and the nearest college on her lengthy list of those she’d applied to was nearly 100 miles away. That was… unfortunate.

It would be easier to distance herself before the inevitable cut off date, less than four months away so long as she was accepted somewhere, and with her grades she most certainly would be. She hadn’t spoken about her reasons for growing distant nor had Jean-Marie asked, but she could tell the woman was concerned - maybe even a little hurt. Her attempts to get Audrey out of the bedroom had become more and more futile. 

And so it made sense she had cooked a hearty, likely delicious breakfast that day to entice Audrey to spend a little time with her. The girl sighed again, feeling a little guilty as she craned her neck to look at the closed bedroom door, as though her mother were standing on the other side with a disapproving look. She might have been for all Audrey knew.

This was disproved when there came another call from downstairs, “Audrey? Come and eat!” The voice was closer, at the bottom of the stairs now. Her mother wasn’t giving up.

Audrey pushed her chair away from the desk in resignation and relented at last, making her way downstairs with reluctance. Halfway down she met her mother’s gaze, a pair of eyes the color of milk chocolate, same as her own. They couldn’t have felt more different, though. Jean-Marie’s were as soft, warm and kind as her personality, whereas Audrey’s were shrewd and calculating behind a pair of large, thin-rimmed glasses. 

Jean-Marie met her descent with a gentle smile that could melt the hardest of hearts, and Audrey felt exactly that, despite not showing it. She was a master of stoic indifference to the point where her classmates had deemed her ‘Miss Robot’, though her mother knew better. Jean-Marie always seemed to know when Audrey was feeling something, even if she couldn’t always pin-point the exact emotion. 

“Luring me out with high cholesterol and greasy pork gut, I see,” Audrey noted as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“You deserve it. You work so hard and you need to take a break,” Jean-Marie replied as she led her daughter to the kitchen, where a table was set with a full spread of food.

Audrey eyed the delectable offering like it was half-baked and moldy. “I’m not even hungry,” she lied.

Jean-Marie frowned. “Oh come now, your devoted mother slaved all morning on this meal,” she said with a faux pout. 

“Guilt tripping will get you everywhere,” Audrey teased and arched an eyebrow. “All morning, huh?”

Her mother offered a sheepish grin. “Well, the better part of half an hour anyway.”

“Uh huh.”

“Now, sit! While it’s still warm,” Jean-Marie urged. Audrey obeyed and took her usual seat next to her mother, trying (unsuccessfully) to hide the greedy glint in her eye at the sight of fresh bacon, eggs and biscuits. Her mother didn’t cook breakfast or lunch very often - working as a freelance journalist kept her rather busy during the day - but when she did, it was always delicious. Audrey never complimented her; she was awkward that way. It felt uncomfortable to say such things.

They both eagerly dug into their meal and several minutes into quietly stuffing their faces, Audrey found herself staring sidelong at her mother. Even seated, Jean-Marie was a few inches taller than her. They were similar in face but quite different in body, with Audrey being more lean and petite (stick-like in her opinion), and Jean-Marie taller and voluptuous. A little chubby, even. But Audrey found it rather becoming of her, as did the occasional man her mother dragged home from the bar. 

In her younger years Jean-Marie had been like a wild, untamed mare, her days spent writing what she wanted and nights spent at bars and clubs. But motherhood had tempered her wild nature to some degree, especially after having hit the big ‘four-oh’. She still visited the bar once or twice a month but ultimately, Jean-Marie had settled into the quiet life of a homebody. Or maybe she just preferred to spend time with Audrey. The girl could never be too sure. Jean-Marie could almost read her like a book but it never worked the other way around. She knew her mother’s personality inside and out to be sure, but once again, reading personal thoughts and emotions wasn’t Audrey’s strong point.

So lost in thinking was she that she didn’t realize Jean-Marie was looking back at her with a coy, knowing smile. “I know that look. You’re still sore about the parallel worlds theory.”

Audrey scoffed. Well, her mother wasn’t always right about what she was thinking, like right then, but Jean-Marie was correct about her frustration regarding the subject. They’d debated about it at length.

“I just think it’s unlikely,” she said with a sigh and leaned back in her chair, breakfast momentarily forgotten. When Jean-Marie opened her mouth to speak, Audrey quickly added, “And I don’t care what a ‘multitude of scientists’ theorize. It sounds like science fiction. You know my beliefs.” She was a firm atheist and realist, something she was constantly reminding her mother.

“Most of the universe sounds like science fiction,” Jean-Marie countered. “Massive balls of gas burning hotter than the sun, over a quarter of the universe consisting of mysterious dark matter, cosmic explosions of radiation and space debris so powerful that it collapses in on itself and creates a gravitational vacuum that-”

“Most of that is theory. We have no idea what the hell is happening out there.” Audrey’s brow crinkled and she crossed her arms, unwilling to compromise.

“But things are happening,” her mother pointed out with a gleam in her eye. “There are instruments that measure certain ‘happenings’, substantial changes millions of lightyears away, recorded by educated professionals. And watch your language.” The chastising was half hearted at best.

Audrey rolled her eyes again. “I’m eighteen, Mom. I’m an adult now, I can speak like one.”

“You may be eighteen but you’re definitely not an adult,” the older woman said with a chortle. “And mature adults know they don’t have to curse to be taken seriously. Now don’t change the subject.” She poked at Audrey’s cheek repeatedly and in fast succession, a teasing and purposefully aggravating thing she’d done for as long as Audrey could remember. As expected, Audrey scowled and swatted at the offending index finger, then shot her mother a sharp look. Jean-Marie hid a smile behind her hand; she’d always been amused by Audrey’s grumpiness, though the girl couldn’t begin to fathom why.

“Now who’s being immature?”

“Oh stop, let an old woman have some fun.” Jean-Marie waved her hand dismissively, still grinning.

“You’re not old. You’re barely forty, that’s not old,” Audrey said with a frown. She hated thinking of her mother’s mortality.

“Compliments will get you everywhere,” Jean-Marie mirrored Audrey’s earlier comment, then added, “You’re still trying to change the subject.”

Audrey didn’t like the mutual familiarity that gripped her heart like a warm embrace, and she reminded herself that she was supposed to be putting a little distance between them, not nurturing their bond. It would be easier on them both in the end. She abruptly rose to her feet, face characteristically stoic, and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose out of habit.

“I need to get back to my essays, they won’t write themselves,” she explained with an unintentional coldness to her voice. She wanted to give her mother an apologetic look, to wrap her up in a loving hug and reassure her that it wasn’t her fault, but Audrey wasn’t keen on such displays. Instead, she guiltily looked away and rubbed at her elbow, ignoring the disappointed frown that graced her mother’s lips.

Jean-Marie looked ready to protest, then seemed to hesitate and sat back with a sigh. “Alright. I have to work on an article anyway. Try to come up for air at some point, yeah?” She offered a weak smile, her attempt at light teasing tinged with sadness. Audrey ignored the pang in her chest. 

“Yeah,” came her curt response, and she promptly turned on her heel and made her way to the stairs. As she ascended the steps en route to a dimly lit bedroom, ready to delve deep into essays and decidedly not think about the tension between them, she did her best to ignore the feeling of eyes on her back.

\-----  
\-----

Over the following weeks, the distance became more mutual. Audrey was trying to not-so-subtly push her mother away and instead of giving her a hard time, Jean-Marie seemed to understand in some way. She gave Audrey space and instead spent more and more time pit-patting away on her laptop, pumping out article after article. To Audrey’s quiet dismay, she was also spending more evenings at the bar. She came home tipsy on occasion but never totally drunk, so the girl didn’t say anything about it. After all, who was she to judge? Her own lifestyle was probably more unhealthy, consisting of days at a time holed up in her bedroom. Sometimes she didn’t even have anything to write. She just stayed in there.

She was nearing the end of her senior year, and there was surprisingly little work to do. Her grade took exams a little earlier than the younger students; this was no doubt due to the seniors’ notorious habits of skip-days and slacking off. School was almost over for them, so no one wanted to take class very seriously toward the end, not even Audrey. She felt she’d learned all she could in high school and was eager to move on to a higher education.

Still, she’d exhausted herself on scholarship essays and there wasn't much left to write anyway. She had taken instead to laying in bed, listening to music or reading, only venturing out a couple times a week for her and her mother’s movie night. On those nights interactions were simple, because movies required no conversation. She used to discuss the film with her mother after the credits rolled, but lately she’d started to make a dash for the stairs as soon as the first credit appeared, not giving Jean-Marie a chance to corner her with any sort of conversation. Jean-Marie could try to stop her, but thankfully she never did; she simply allowed her daughter to leave and retreat back to the dark bedroom without a word.

What Audrey loathed to admit was, just as much as the conversation between them, she missed the cuddling. Her and her mother had always been very affectionate, both with words and touches, and movie nights often included snuggling up together on the couch (provided Audrey wasn’t dividing her attention between the TV screen and the screen of her laptop. Sometimes she’d work on homework while they watched the movie and so no cuddling would take place on such nights). As of late, she’d brought her laptop every single time, usually pretending to work on something while her eyes remained glued to the screen. Sometimes she’d sense her mother glancing at her but she didn’t return the thoughtful looks.

But Jean-Marie’s silence wasn’t meant to last. One movie night, when the film ended and Audrey snapped her laptop shut, prepared to head straight to her bedroom, her mother suddenly blurted, “I’m seeing someone.” It was succinct, blunt, meant to halt Audrey in her steps and it succeeded.

“Huh? Oh,” Audrey replied, half standing from her spot on the couch before she allowed herself to flop back down. “Cool.”

Jean-Marie continued, wringing her hands and avoiding her daughter’s gaze as much as Audrey was avoiding hers. “I met him at the bar. His name’s Devon. He’s really nice.” Her words were terse and a little nervous, and Audrey wondered why. Was she scared of her daughter’s reaction to the news? It had been a long time since she dated and Audrey had never had a problem with it before. 

But… did Audrey have a problem with it now? She wasn’t sure how she felt.

“Cool,” she said again.

Jean-Marie frowned delicately and rested her fidgeting hands in her lap. Audrey could feel the weight of her eyes, knew she was studying her for a reaction, so she schooled her expression into disinterested indifference. 

She knew her mother wasn’t fooled but fortunately, Jean-Marie didn’t pry. “I invited him over for our next movie night. I’d like you to meet him, Audrey.” 

Audrey could practically feel the sincerity soaked into Jean-Marie’s words, could almost sense the desperation for warmth, for disdain, for any sort of emotional reaction. She swallowed and provided her with none.

“Sure,” Audrey said and moved to stand up again, ready to bolt upstairs.

“Audrey-”

“What?” She snapped too quickly, interrupting her mother, then offered the woman a somewhat guilty look. 

Jean-Marie’s lips formed a thin line and she slumped into the couch. “Nothing, baby. Have a good night.”

Audrey’s brow furrowed as her gaze lingered on Jean-Marie, and at last her expression showed a bit of emotion. Was it regret? Hurt? Resentment? She was feeling something but she just didn’t know what, and it twisted her stomach with confusion and unrest. Jean-Marie, of course, sensed the inner battle and her eyes softened as they searched Audrey’s. Wordlessly, she outstretched her arms in a silent offer, and before she could rationalize her actions, Audrey found herself melting into her mother’s embrace. She curled up right in her lap and Jean-Marie affectionately cradled her head. Audrey breathed in the familiar scent of her loving mother, who silently rocked her in the comforting confines of motherly arms. Practiced fingers stroked Audrey’s mouse-brown hair, and the girl felt her control slipping as she settled further into the embrace and sighed with contentment. She wasn’t little anymore and hardly fit on the shelf of Jean-Marie’s thighs, her legs bent and draped over the couch while she nestled into the older woman, but they both made it work. They always did.

“You know you can always talk to me, right?” Jean-Marie murmured sweetly into Audrey’s crown, and the girl closed her eyes as more guilt needled at the growing warmth in her heart.

“I know,” she whispered, then quietly cleared her throat and said with more confidence, “I don’t need to, though. It’s fine you’re seeing someone. It’s great, actually.” 

Jean-Marie pulled back slightly, just enough to seek out her gaze. “Yeah?” The response sounded dubious but nonjudgmental, an open ended question that offered an out to Audrey’s statement but didn’t demand it.

Audrey looked up at her mother through long lashes, forcing herself to meet those searching eyes. “Yeah, it’ll be good for you, especially when I’m gone.”

The change was so minute that Audrey almost missed it, just a small stiffening in Jean-Marie’s body, but the older woman simply smiled and held her daughter even closer. They remained like that for some time, engulfed in the tender warmth of physical and emotional closeness, and it was moments like these Audrey longed for on the lonely nights up in her bedroom. These moments where their hearts and bodies melded into one, fused together like a chemical bond, were priceless beyond words or even thought. She never felt so loved as she did in her mother’s arms. Audrey was an academic individual who shied away from deeply emotional experiences, but despite her desire to distance herself, she realized she could never do without those moments with her mother. 

And what scared her even more, which she was forced to recognize as she nuzzled into Jean-Marie’s neck, was that their inevitable separation might crush them both.


End file.
